Despair
by Zebrastreifen
Summary: For the first time within the past days, Emily wasn't sure whether she might not be a bigger danger to herself than this phantom haunting her thoughts / SEQUEL TO "DENIAL" / Trigger warning: Rated M for references to non-consensual sex and possible eating disorder as well as strong feelings of fear and self-hatred!
1. Chapter 1

**Just in case there are some new readers: I'd strongly recommend reading "Disgust" and "Denial" first, but it's your decision. Whatever you do: enjoy and review!**

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1) Disgust

2) Denial

**3) Despair**

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One could have dramatically said that Emily didn't even know when the last time was she had slept. However, this would be a lie. A lie that couldn't be further from the truth, to be more precise. Because Emily Prentiss knew exactly. She knew that she hadn't slept since Sunday morning. Hadn't slept since she'd woken up in that disgusting motel bed, not knowing _where_ she was and fearing to know _why_ she was naked and couldn't remember anything.

She hadn't slept on Sunday after Hotch had given her a ride home after having convinced her to go to the hospital. She hadn't slept on Monday after he had walked in on her sitting in a pool of menstrual blood. She hadn't slept on Tuesday after confessing to Hotch how much it hurt.

The team – minus JJ and herself – had caught the unsub on Wednesday morning, just before he could kill his latest victim. At least that's what Emily had heard. She was still suspended, and Hotch had covered that up by telling the team Emily had gotten sick, too. It had been a helpful lie: The flu-excuse explained everything: Her puffy eyes, the hot water bottle pressed to her belly, the thick blanket wrapped around her shaking body.

No one else could know the truth - that she had spent three nights in a row crying. That the hot water bottle wasn't curing an upset stomach but helping her to keep her cramps on a manageable level. That she wasn't avoiding her colleagues because she didn't want to give them her flu but because she just couldn't look at them.

Now that she was back in her own apartment, Emily felt a little safer. All that mattered to her was that she was still awake. Still conscious. And that had to stay that way. She'd been keeping herself awake using whatever method she could think of - except for coffee. All she drank was tap water. Not because the tap water in her area was particularly tasty (quite the contrary, actually) but tap water was safe. Safer than the alternatives, at least. One could easily drug open drinks or water bottles, but nobody would mess with the water supply system of a six-story-building just to get back at her, right?

So instead of drinking coffee, she had set her alarm clock to ring every couple of minutes, just to be safe. But it just wasn't enough. She had tried to convince herself that she didn't need any sleep, but eventually, she knew that it wasn't true. She needed to sleep. More than she had ever needed to sleep before. But she didn't dare close her eyes, afraid that when she woke up again, she'd be back at the motel. Afraid that _he _was still preying on her. Afraid of being careless enough to hand _him_ yet another opportunity on a silver platter. She shouldn't have accepted the drinks random guys had sent over to her _that night. _How could she have been so careless? She was a FBI agent, for god's sake! She had let this happen. It was her own fault. She shouldn't have...

The alarm went off again – a shrill, deafening sound. Emily jerked up. She was awake. She was safe. And it had to stay that way! Lazily sitting on the couch was too dangerous. Too comfortable. If she just lay around like this, she would doze off sooner or later. And she couldn't let this happen.

Emily tried to stand up but immediately fell back on the couch. For a brief moment, everything went black. Shit. Low blood sugar didn't even begin to describe it. She hadn't eaten since Saturday night (this time, she had to think about it, though). Emily sighed. She wasn't even hungry, but she knew that she should force herself to eat a few bites or she might black out. Complete loss of control. She couldn't let that happen.

Shakily, Emily walked towards the kitchen unit and opened a few cupboards. Chocolate! That should work. She randomly grabbed three candy bars, unwrapped them and shoved them into her mouth, barely chewing them. Emily didn't know whether it medically made sense, but she immediately felt better – less shaky. She sighed, letting her gaze wander.

Wait. Didn't she usually keep her sweets on the middle shelf? The chocolate bars had been on the upper shelf, hadn't they? A deep, dark fear caused her to turn pale. No. No, no, no, no, no! What if _he_ had been in her apartment? What if he had added a little something to the food she had lying around? It wasn't worth the risk. She had to get rid of what she'd just eaten before whatever _he _might have poisoned the candy bars with could enter her blood stream.

Without hesitation, Emily ran towards the sink and put her finger down her throat, making herself throw up. Then she stared at the vomit in her sink. Turned on the faucet. Stumbled a few steps back. Reopened the cupboard and found more sweets on the upper shelf. Took a deep breath. Splashed water into her face. Sunk down to the kitchen floor.

And as she was sitting there hugging her knees, with the taste of vomit in her mouth and tears in her eyes, Emily suddenly felt a different kind of fear. For the first time within the past days, she wasn't sure whether right now, _she_ might not be a bigger danger to herself than this phantom haunting her thoughts.


	2. Chapter 2

_"__Daddy? Da-ddyyy?"  
Hotch smiled at the sound of his son's voice. He had just sent him down to the living room to get his favorite book. It was Jack's bedtime – well actually, it was past Jack's bedtime – and although Hotch knew it was way to late to be reading a book together, he hadn't been able to refuse. "Yes?" "Da-ddyyy?" Hotch rolled his eyes. His son always ended up screaming for him at the top of his voice but was rarely able to hear his father's response. Halfheartedly, Hotch repeated his "Yes?" but he knew that Jack was already on his way up. __Thump, thump, thump__. The five-year-old was about as soft-footed as an elephant. _

_Jack's face appeared in the door frame and Hotch frowned at the expression in his face. _

_"__What's wrong, buddy?" _

_"__Miss Em'ly's here!" _

_"__What? Where?" _

_"__Outside. Look!" _

_The little boy grabbed his fathers hand and dragged him downstairs. He stopped in front of the floor-to-ceiling-windows in the living room and pointed at a dark shape on the patio. _

_Shit. _

_Hotch knelt down next to his son. "Jack? Will you go to your room and wait for me? I have to talk to Emily, okay?" The boy pressed his lips together, visibly conflicted. _

_"__Miss Em'ly looks sad, daddy!" _

_Hotch looked at her again. His son was right. Emily was sitting on the stairs leading up to the patio, hugging her knees. He was pretty sure she was crying, although she was hiding her face now. Thank god she hadn't noticed them yet! Hotch sighed. _

_"__Yes, she does, honey. That's why I need you to go upstairs already and let daddy talk to her, okay?" The five-year-old bit his lip, then nodded bravely and ran off, leaving Hotch standing there staring at Emily. It took him a few seconds to bring up the courage to open the patio door and talk to her. Emily flinched when she heard him saying her name. When Hotch stepped outside, she got up hurriedly and Hotch knew she was about to run away like a shy deer. _

_"__Please stay." _

_She froze. _

_"__Emily?" _

_No reaction. _

_She just stared at him, didn't move, didn't speak. _

_"__Emily? Say something. You're scaring me." _

_Was she shaking? Slowly – predictably – Hotch came a little closer, glad when that didn't cause Emily to run. "It's okay, Emily. You're safe!" _

_Her head-shaking broke his heart. _


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N: Three chapters in less than a week! Yeay! _**  
**_I know they are pretty short but_ I didn't want to have any time leaps within a single chapter so I decided to split the Emily-in-her-own-kitchen, Emily-on-Hotch's-patio and Emily-in-Hotch's-living-room scenes up into individual chapters... In case that annoys you (or in case you really really really love this fic! xD) please leave a comment! **

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He had finally managed to convince Emily to come inside. She still hadn't spoken a word, though, so now there they were – standing in his living room, not looking at each other, not talking to each other – not that Hotch wasn't trying to make her talk to him...

_"__Emily?"_

No reaction. He repeated her name but Emily didn't respond. Hotch fought the urge to reach out for her, touch her shoulder maybe, or hold her hand. Her gaze was completely empty, like all life had poured out of her.

"Emily? Please look at me! You... you're scaring me!" His voice was so desperate it sent cold shivers down Emily's spine. This was real. She was here. They were here. This was really happening. Emily gulped. She was safe now, right? Hesitatingly, Emily looked up to Hotch, still not saying a word. He acknowledged her reaction with a soft "Hey" and gave her a (grateful? pitiful? worried?) smile.

Silence.

"Emily?" He hesitated. "What do you need me to do? Please tell me." His voice was just too soft. How could he be so nice to her? Hell, how could he still even look at her? She shouldn't have come here! This was just pathetic! _She_ was just pathetic! She didn't deserve him. Emily opened her mouth to speak, to tell him exactly that, but Hotch cut her off after the first half of her whispered apology. He shook his head vehemently. "Don't, Em." Another cold shiver ran down her spine. Em. He had never called her Em before. Oh god. Until four days ago, it had always been Prentiss, and now he was calling her by her kindergarten nickname? How could she have let this happen? How could she have let him find out? He'd never see her the way he used to see her. She'd never be kick-ass FBI agent Emily Prentiss again. Hell, she didn't even see herself like this anymore. How could she expect others to see her that way? From now on, she'd be _Em, the rape victim_ to him. Emily gulped. To _them_. The team! They'd find out eventually, and they'd look down on her the way she looked down on herself. _It's her fault_ they'd say. _She's an FBI agent. She should have been able to defend herself._

"It wasn't your fault" Emily flinched. Had she just been talking out aloud or was Hotch just building on her previous attempt at apologizing to him? She felt another tear running down her cheek and realized she had never hated herself more than she did right now.

She was broken. She knew she was. In fact, this very realization had been the reason why she'd come here in the first place. She hadn't slept in days, hadn't eaten in days, and now she had made herself throw up some pre-wrapped bars of chocolate because she'd suddenly been convinced they were poisoned. If it weren't so said, it would be downright ridiculous! She couldn't let her fear and paranoia take over her completely. She couldn't hide any longer! If she did, she'd let _him_ win. And whatever she did – she could never ever let _him_ win!

"What do you need me to do, Emily?" Hotch repeated, and her words were out before her self-censorship could kick in: "I... I need you to eat something with me." Emily was disgusted by how shaky her voice was, but Hotch didn't seem to notice. Instead, he just nodded and said "Okay", as if her request wasn't weird and embarrassing and completely pathetic.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Sorry for having you wait so long for the chapter - my classes have started again and I barely have time to sleep... I hope I'll have at least one more chapter for you this week but I can't promise anything.**_

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_When they passed the stairs, Hotch heard another suspicious __thump, thump, thump __and sighed, wondering how long Jack had been eavesdropping for. _

"Emily? I'll be right back, okay? Why don't you go to the kitchen and find something for us to eat?"

The realization hit him that he was talking to her the way he was talking to his five-year-old son. But how could he not? She had never looked so petite, so fragile. He was sure Emily had lost weight – at least five pounds, maybe more. She had to eat. Had to sleep. Had to be taken care of. Hotch sighed loudly when he entered his son's room, and of course that didn't go unnoticed.

"Dadee, are you sad?" Jack frowned worriedly and pouted his tiny lips. Hotch knelt down next to his son's bed, giving Jack what he hoped looked like a reassuring look. "Emily is very sad, so Daddy needs to be there for her tonight, okay?" The little boy nodded vigorously and Hotch couldn't help but smile at him before his facial expression changed again.

"Jack" He started with a half-paternal, half-apologetic voice. "Can we postpone your bedtime story?" The five-year-old frowned again. "What is pastpown?" Hotch chuckled. "Postpone means 'do something another time'"  
"But I get my bedtime story?"  
"Yes"  
"Pwomise!"  
"Scout's honor!"

The little boy's face brightened and Hotch suppressed another sigh. When did scout's honor stop being enough? When did life stop being so simple, so fair? To his son, something as simple as a promise still meant something, still made him feel safe. You had your daddy check the closet for you, and when he promised you there were no monsters hiding inside, you believed him. You slept through the night. And if you woke up in the darkness, suddenly not so sure whether monsters might have sneaked inside your closet while you've been sleeping, you could just scream "daddy" real loud and have him check again – or sneak into his bed - and you felt safe again. But how could he make Emily feel safe? His thoughts were being interrupted by his son's arms wrapping around him. "I love you, dadee." Hotch managed to get out an "I love you, too, Jack" without his voice breaking, but when his son lay back down, snuggled his favorite stuffed animal against his face, closed his eyes and confidently said "I know, dadee", Hotch could feel the tears welling up in his eyes and didn't know how to stop them from falling.

How could he give Emily that kind of confidence, that kind of trust? When Hotch walked down to the kitchen, he cleared his throat and waited for her to face the door before entering the kitchen so he wouldn't startle her. He tried to be casual but knew it was unnatural when he slowly - predictably – walked towards the kitchen counter Emily was leaning against.

"Found something?"  
She shrugged and Hotch knew she hadn't even dared to open any of the cupboards.  
"It's okay, Emily." He said gently and opened a drawer. "What about sandwiches?"

Immediate head-shaking. Alright. She had to be the one to decide. She had to be the one in charge. But how could she be in charge when she could barely look at him? Hotch sighed, then opened all the built-in kitchen cupboards.

"Pick whatever you want. I'll eat it with you, okay?"  
She nodded shakily. "I'm s...sorry, Hotch. I..."  
He made a dismissive gesture. "It's okay, Emily." He meant it.

Silence.

Emily bit her lip, then stood up on tiptoes and – hesitatingly – reached out for a family pack of mac&amp;cheese, as if she were asking for his permission with her eyes. Or studying his reaction. Either way, he must have done the right thing because a few seconds later, Emily was rummaging though the cupboards gathering a pot and other kitchen utensils.

Hotch let her do as she liked and tried to persuade himself that it wasn't a bad sign that she completely avoided his gaze while cooking, tied to persuade himself that she was just focusing on her current task.

Of course he knew there was more to it. He could tell from the terrified look in her face when he reached for the salt without her consent. He could tell from the grateful look she gave him when he casually put the salt shaker back down without using it (because he knew that from her point of view, the content of this salt shaker was out of her control, out of her comfort zone). And eventually, he could tell from the fact that they were wordlessly sitting in his kitchen eating unsalted mac&amp;cheese at ten twenty pm.

But right now, even having her know that he knew all that was dangerously close to the limit of what Emily could take. If he didn't want her to run out and hide in her apartment for the next couple of days (or even weeks!), he couldn't push her. So for the duration of their nocturnal meal, Hotch pretended not to notice the secret looks Emily gave him (alternating between suspicion, fear and shame), and Emily pretended not know that he knew.

Just because that _had to be_ enough didn't mean that it _was_, though.


	5. Chapter 5

**I know I've made you wait waaaay too long for this chapter - I'm really sorry. This semester's been crazy! **

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"Emily... you haven't slept since Saturday night, have you? You haven't _tried_ to sleep since Saturday night." Damnit! She'd known that sooner or later, she'd have to talk to him – that sooner or later, he'd be asking questions. But couldn't he wait after washing up their dishes? Or cleaning the kitchen? Or... Emily reached out for the two – now empty – bowls sitting on the table in front of them. "Just let me..." Hotch shook his head. "You're avoiding me." Of course she was. Emily sighed, knowing she didn't need to respond. The terrified look in her eyes gave her away.

"Please talk to me!" Hotch asked gently, and after a while, Emily did, knowing that she didn't really have a choice. "I... I can't sleep" She whispered but they both knew she was lying. Even sitting on this fairly uncomfortable kitchen chair, Emily was barely awake. If she allowed herself to close her eyes for even half a second, she'd fall asleep right away. The point was: She didn't even want to try. Didn't _dare_ to try. And she knew he knew. Why did she have to be so predictable?

They sat in silence for another couple of minutes.

"How about a cup of tea?" Hotch suggested and sighed loudly when Emily didn't react. "You can prepare the tea yourself, if you want to..."

And again, she knew that he knew. She could tell by the look in his face. This understanding, accepting look. He knew why she had to be the one picking the food, knew why she had to be the one preparing it. The profiler-part of her brain told her how logical her reaction was: She had been drugged and raped, after all. So consequently, she'd be avoiding any situation where this could happen again by not accepting food or drinks from other people. _Overcompensation. _A desperate attempt of trying to make up for that complete loss of control by seemingly controlling everything now. Pathetic! Maybe if she stopped behaving like a victim, she would just stop being one? This was Hotch, for god's sake! He'd never hurt her, right?

"No, it's okay. Just pick whatever type you have" Emily replied bravely, trying not to be angry at the brief flash of surprise in his eyes. He didn't say anything, though. Just filled a kettle and then rummaged around in the kitchen drawers to find the tea bags.

Ten minutes later, they were sitting on the couch in his living room and Emily was trying to avoid talking to him by focusing on the cup of tea in her hands. She could feel him staring at her, mocking her. An unspoken _I bet you won't dare to drink it _seemed to hang in the air. Pah! As if she were that predictable! Emily took a large sip of her tea and burned her mouth. "Fuck!" She cursed, placing the mug on the couch table. "Be careful! It's still too hot!" Hotch commented unnecessarily.

Emily rolled her eyes and changed her position on the couch, unconsciously snuggling into the comfortable pillows behind her, tilting her head back just a tiny bit. What harm could it do? It wasn't like she was planning on talking to Hotch any time soon anyways!

*'*'*'*'*

The next thing she perceived was a shrill scream in a dark room. It took her a few seconds to process it was her own voice. Emily jerked when the room suddenly went bright. She could feel a gentle touch on her shoulder. "DON'T TOUCH ME!"

Hotch froze. "Emily? It's okay. It's just me!" She shrugged his hand off her shoulder. "Get away from me!" He gulped, alarmed and slowly knelt down to the ground next to the couch. "Emily?" He tried again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up! I... I bumped my toe on my way out." The vague memory of a muffled curse shot through Emily's mind. "What happened?" She whispered timidly. The shakiness of her voice sent cold shivers down Hotch's spine. He sighed. "You agreed to sit down on the couch for a moment." She nodded. "You burned your mouth because the tea was still too hot. Then you lay back on the couch and fell asleep. Don't you remember?" Emily violently shook her head. "I don't remember, Hotch. I don't remember anything!" She screamed, her whole body shaking uncontrollably now. Hotch didn't say anything, knowing that this wasn't about waking up on his couch after barely ten minutes of sleep. This was about waking up in that disgusting motel room, remembering as much as she was wearing: nothing.

Emily tried to control her breathing, knowing she was on the verge of a panic attack. How could this have happened? How could she have allowed herself to lose control again? Emily's eyes wandered around in the room and then caught by the bright red mug on the couch table. The tea. That must be it! "You slipped something in my tea, didn't you?" She accused him, half-angrily, half-terrified. Hotch's mouth fell open. "How... how could you do that to me, Hotch?" His eyes widened in shock. "Emily!" He started. "I... I didn't do anything! You fell asleep the second your head hit the pillow! I didn't want to wake you up. I mean, you're exhausted! To be honest, I was glad you fell asleep so quickly! You've been awake for how many days now?"

"So you didn't... drug me?" She asked insecurely. Hotch vehemently shook his head and Emily bit her lip, slowly realizing how absurd her accusation was. "I'd never do that!" How could she even suggest that? She was biting her nails now, visibly conflicted.

"Emily?" Hotch asked softly.  
"I need to hear you say it." She all but whispered.  
Hotch frowned. "Say what?"

Silence.

"Emily?"  
She avoided his gaze, unable to look him in the eyes. "That you didn't touch me, didn't... do anything while I was out." Hotch's eyes widened in shock. How could she even consider that? Didn't she know that everything he'd done within the past four days had been to protect her, to make her feel safe? He still hadn't responded, clearly hurt by her words.

"I'm sorry, Aaron." Emily apologized. She tried to stop the tears dwelling up in her eyes. Hotch doubted he had ever seen a look like that in somebody's eyes before. Shame. Pain. Fear. And more self-hatred than anyone could possibly bear. A dangerous combination. He knew – he understood – even before she could say the words: "I... I know I'm freaking out right now. I _know_ you'd never..." She gulped. "I just... I need to hear it from you. Please."

_Oh god._ The sheer desperateness of her voice ripped his heart out. How could he _not_ tell her what she needed to hear? No matter how much it hurt that he had to say it in the first place! He inhaled deeply, trying to brace himself for what he was about to say: "I didn't do anything to you while you were asleep, Emily" Hotch paused for a second, trying to regain composure before he continued. "I did not r..." She cut him off. "Stop. I'm so sorry. I know you'd never..." She gulped. "I'm so sorry."

He didn't respond.

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**Too dramatic? Too out-of-character? Please tell me what you think!**


	6. Chapter 6

"Please don't make me leave. Please don't …." There she was again. Vulnerable, scared, little _Em_. Hotch pressed his lips together, avoiding her gaze. How could she say something like that? How could she think – even for just one moment – that he was capable of hurting her? All he wanted to do right now was walk out, walk away from the fucked-up situation - mostly because he was afraid that if he stayed, he might say something stupid (like "Don't you see that I love you?") or – even worse - something hurtful. But when he felt her gentle touch on his arm, he froze. It was only a second but it was enough to make him stay. Make him _want to_ stay.

"I'm sorry, Aaron". Emily's voice was shaking, her voice barely a whisper, but she'd somehow brought up the courage to look him straight in the eye. Silence hung heavily in the room and Emily was sure could hear her own heartbeat. And his. But no words.

"Please say something" She begged, not knowing – or not caring – how desperate she sounded. Although she'd never wanted to admit it: For the past few days, Hotch had been her lifeline. A lifeline that she might have cut with her very own (painful, paranoid) words.

"I though you trusted me." He finally whispered, the disappointment in his voice evident. His words felt like a punch in her gut. "I don't even trust myself right now!" She spat out defensively, and only afterwards she realized it was true. Hotch frowned but didn't have to ask the question that was on his mind because Emily continued right away: "I know that you'd never hurt me. But knowing that... it's just not enough right now." She bit her lip, then decided that if there was someone who deserved the truth, it was him.

"I'm scared, Aaron. I'm scared of everything right now. The thought of eating, of drinking, of sleeping terrifies me but I'm so tired. So – so – tired. I just want everything to stop. I want to feel like myself again. I'm losing control. I'm losing – myself. I'm losing my mind. I don't know what to do. Everything is wrong. I know I'm being a textbook victim right now – overcompensating that... fatal drink in that bar by not drinking, not even eating now. God, I hysterically screamed at you not to touch me! I feel so... so cliché. And I hate myself for feeling that way but I can't help it. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I... I feel like I should have never called you, should have never let you see me like this. But then I'm glad I did. Because... because you're helping. You really are."

He had never heard Emily ramble before. Hotch couldn't help but smile until the severity of the situation hit him again. "I... I don't know what to say." He confessed. "What I _do_ know is that I want you to feel safe, Emily. To _be_ safe. And to be honest, I don't think you should be alone right now. Not because _I_ think you're weak and need to be taken care of but because I think that's what _you _think about yourself." He paused to let his words sink in. "You said earlier that you didn't even trust _yourself_ right now." Hotch continued and Emily nodded hesitatingly, unsure what he was driving at. "I think that it's not this... whole situation that lead you to believe that. I think the reason why you came here tonight – the reason why you're finally asking for help – is because you did something - or maybe even just thought of something - that scared you. Something that made you think that you couldn't trust yourself." _Touché. _Emily gulped and Hotch could see the panic in her eyes. "I'm not going to make you tell me what it was." He started soothingly. "I'm not going to make you do anything you're not ready for. Let me just say what I think you should do tonight, okay? It's just a suggestion, and you don't have to, okay? Just please let me say it." She nodded bravely and Hotch continued.

"Stay here tonight, Emily. Stay here and try to sleep. I know you're scared but you're exhausted. And I'm worried about you. You're the strongest person I know but that doesn't mean that you can't ask for help." He paused, then started again: "You're safe here, Emily. And I'm willing to do anything and let _you_ do anything you need in order to feel safe, okay? Anything. You can sleep in my bedroom and I'll take the couch. And before you ask: Yes, that's okay with me. I just want you to be able to lock the door. Not that you'd need to." He sighed. "See, now I'm the one rambling"

Hotch prayed that the low chuckle he'd heard wasn't only in his head. "You can lock the bedroom door or you can leave it unlocked. You can make me promise I will stay out of your way until tomorrow morning or you can make me kick the door in when I hear the slightest whimper. It's your call, Emily. You're in control. I'm not going to make you stay – I can't make you stay. But you have to get some rest. And – correct me if I'm wrong but I feel like you don't want to be alone right now. And that's completely fine because you don't have to." Hotch sighed. "I'm just going to shut up now and let you think about it."

Emily inhaled deeply and for a brief moment, Hotch was sure she was going to shake her head or run away or start crying – but she didn't. Instead, she looked up to him, let out a shaky breath and – when she realized she couldn't trust her voice right now – slowly nodded her approval.


	7. Chapter 7

_**I'm so so so sorry for neglecting this fic! It's just that things have been crazy lately, but I promise I will not abandon this story!**_

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To his surprise, the rest of the night was very uneventful. He had assumed he was going to hear her pacing around or at least tossing and turning, but after he had laid out sweatpants and a t-shirt for her to change into, Emily had disappeared in his room and seemed to have actually slept through the night. Although he knew this was most likely attributable to the fact that she hadn't slept in days, Hotch still felt some weird sense of pride. Nevertheless, she was here, right? Which meant that if she didn't trust him – if she didn't feel safe around him – she wouldn't have stayed. Wouldn't have come here in the first place... Didn't it?

Sighing deeply, Hotch flipped the last pancake onto the plate Jack was holding. "Here you go, buddy". The five-year-old smiled widely. "I loooove pancakes!" Hotch chuckled. "I know. That's why I made them for you. Why don't you sit down and start eating already? Daddy will be with you in a second, okay?" The little boy nodded absentmindedly, excitedly jumping over towards the kitchen table while staring at the half-melted chocolate chips in his pancakes.

Meanwhile, Hotch had walked upstairs and was pacing back and forth in front of his bedroom door. What if she was still asleep? Should he wake her up? And how? He placed a hand on the door handle, then removed it. What if she had indeed locked the door? Would he scare her by trying to open it? And did he have a right to enter the room without her permission? Hotch hesitated. After another couple of seconds, he finally opted for a gentle knock. "Emily? You're awake, aren't you? I... I made breakfast. Pancakes." He paused. "I think you're awake, but if you don't feel like coming out just yet, that's okay. I just... wanted to let you know."

With these words, he walked back downstairs, surprised to see that his son had already finished his pancakes and was now eyeing the ones on Emily's plate. "Miss Em'ly's not here, daddy. Can I have her pancakes then?" Hotch sighed. "She might still want them, buddy. But why don't you take another one of mine?" The little boy shrugged, then grabbed his fork and used it to spear one of his father's pancakes. Jack had finished it before Hotch had even really sat down. He stared at his son incredulously.

"What?" The five-year-old smirked and Hotch couldn't help but smile.

"Nothing". And apparently, _nothing_ was too boring for Jack. "Daaaad? Can I go play now?"

Hotch rolled his eyes. "Go ahead. But put your plate in the sink first, okay?"

"Kay." The chair screeched over the floor. Dishes clinking in the sink. And with a loud _thump, thump, thump_, the five-year-old disappeared upstairs.

* * *

Rushing around the corner, Jack literally almost ran into Emily, who had just stepped out of _her_ room. Only a fraction of a second before colliding with her though, he froze, suspiciously eyeing her. "Good morning, Jack" Emily tried but the little boy didn't seem to care. She frowned. "What's wrong, sweetie?"

Jack pouted, letting out a defiant "I'm mad at you". Emily gave him a puzzled look.

"You were scweaming at my daddy." Jack clarified, clearly upset. "Last night. I heard you. Don't scweam at my daddy! I love my daddy!" Emily bit her lip. "I do, too, Jack." The five-year-old shook his head. "No! You scweamed at daddy. You don't scweam at somebody you like!"

Emily felt guilty. How could she explain that to him? She gulped. "You're right, honey. I shouldn't have screamed at your daddy. Sometimes, people get mad when they're actually just scared, you know?" Jack looked conflicted. "Why are you scared, Miss Em'ly?"

"I... something really scary happened to me, Jack. And right now, I'm just... overwhelmed. Do you know what that word means – overwhelmed?" The little boy shook his head. "It's... when everything's just too much and you don't know what to do. And then you end up doing the wrong thing." "Like scweaming at my daddy?" Emily nodded. "Yes, like screaming at your daddy." "So you don't hate my daddy?" Head-shaking. "And you didn't want to make my daddy sad?" Another head-shaking. Jack seemed to be satisfied with her answer, but the previously upset look on his little face had now been replaced by concern.

"When I'm scared, my daddy always says "_You're safe. I will always protect you. And I love you._"" The little boy hesitated for a second, then excitedly suggested: "I can go tell my daddy to protect you, too! Then you don't have to be scared anymore!" Emily was touched by the confidence and trust in his statement. And when the five-year-old suddenly wrapped his tiny little arms around her, she desperately tried not to start crying.

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**_...if there are any readers/followers left after 11 months of not updating this story, I would really really appreciate some feedback! :)_**


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